


Empty-Headed Genius

by sinkblot (Inkblot9)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Kink, Fade to Black, For Science!, Foreplay, Hypnotism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Sleepy Cuddles, Technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 17:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkblot9/pseuds/sinkblot
Summary: A prodigal brain can be both a blessing and a curse. With everything going on in a head like that, some subconscious part of the mind will eventually be craving a release from it all. But if a burdened genius is lucky enough to have a brilliant-minded partner as well, scientific curiosity and technological know-how will be sure to find a solution…





	Empty-Headed Genius

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stuffbyshelbyfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffbyshelbyfics/gifts).



> my friends are a bad influence. "a better world"/parallel fiddauthor.

There was a good degree of irony to it all, Fiddleford had found himself thinking more than once. His partner was a genius who had overworked himself for degree after degree, who barely slept on his own if he could help it, who believed he was nothing if he wasn’t the smartest in the room. He was constantly prone to overthinking, paranoia, and mistrust. Not least of all, he had suffered debilitating trauma through long-term manipulation and possession at the hands of a literal _demon_ (the thought still made Fiddleford shudder and reach to cross himself).

The more he mulled on the matter, though, the more it began to make a backwards sort of sense. Bearing such a brilliant brain could be both a blessing and a curse; with all that was going on in a head like that, of course some subconscious part of Ford would eventually be craving release. Everything he’d been through would exhaust even the strongest of minds. What Ford needed was a way to temporarily relieve himself of all his mental weight … and to feel safe enough to do so, reassured that the world would not come to an end, that no evil influences would take advantage of him.

Even besides all of that, Fiddleford had long known that behind closed bedroom doors, the man of twelve fingers and twelve Ph.D.s showed a side of himself that was far from the dominant, commanding presence he liked to assert elsewhere.

As their experimentation continued, Fiddleford himself was finding a strange kind of satisfaction in it all. It was an endearing testament to Stanford’s trust in him, that someone who had been through hell and back all within the confines of his own psyche would again allow someone else to take hold of it for a while. A Ford so open and vulnerable was something Fiddleford had thought he might never have the privilege of seeing again, even all these years after Cipher had been sealed from their dimension. So of course he was more than willing to put his scientific curiosity and McGucket-brand technological know-how to work to create the best possible experience for them both.

The lanky scientist hung up his lab coat and tie, then eased the squeaking door closed behind him. The room he shared with his colleague and lover was darkened, save for a pulse of artificial greenish light. That faint illumination was all he needed to see that Stanford was exactly where he had expected … exactly where he wanted him.

The back corner of the room held a long wooden desk, surrounded by books and papers of all descriptions. Atop it all sat a broad computer monitor, which had been set to run one program in particular. With every step he took, Fiddleford saw further proof that his intricate, intelligent design was again working just as it should.

Slumped in the desk chair, limbs loose and limp, Stanford gazed into the virtual abyss his partner had created. The endlessly spiralling patterns produced by the screen before him were reflected back in the slightly-askew lenses of his glasses. Behind their frames his dark brown eyes were wide and glassy, drinking in the visuals before him as if they were his entire world. His jaw hung open with the corners of his lips upturned in relaxed bliss. A pair of thick black headphones covered his ears, pumping sonorous soundwaves and subliminals into his melting mind. The results of this trial were apparent and inarguable; all the elements of powerful hypnotic trance were in place, and Ford was loving every moment of it. Another look revealed just how eager he must have been to begin this ritual; he hadn’t even taken the time to change out of his work clothes. Perhaps he had had a particularly stressful day … but it was clear that whatever worries might have been plaguing him earlier had all but disappeared now.

Fiddleford couldn’t help but smile back at the sight before him. He loved this man, after all, and there was no denying he was rather adorable whenever he fell into such a state. It was as if all the hardened layers of insecurities and misgivings over Ford’s soul had peeled themselves back, leaving only their soft and curious core.

Standing just behind the desk now, Fiddleford raised careful wiry fingers to smoothly lower the headphones onto Ford’s shoulders, flipping them speaker-side-up. He knew Ford had sunken far enough that this shift would not wake him from his half-sleep. Rather, it would simply allow him to hear and respond to his lover’s familiar voice as well as the binaurals still resonating just under his ears.

“Hey there, darlin’,” Fiddleford murmured. He worked his hands back up and into his partner’s greying hair, to which Ford reacted with a contented sigh. “How’re ya feelin’?”

Another quiet “ _mmmmmh_ ” was all that slipped through Stanford’s parted lips, every muscle in his face far too tired to even attempt forming words. But that was no matter, for this singular sound (and the look on his face) made for a more than adequate response.

Fiddleford chuckled lightly. “I’m glad,” he said as he continued to massage Stanford’s head with his fingertips. “You of all people deserve th’ chance to jus’ relax. You’ve been workin’ so hard for so long … but now all y’have t’do is just … _relax_ … ”

Even without peering back down at his expression, he could tell that Ford’s dazed smile must be expanding. He’d known the man long enough to know he was a sucker for praise … and he figured there was no harm in laying it on a little thick once in a while. Perhaps, he thought, it would allow a more positive mindset to waft into the waking world as well.

“Yer doin’ so well, darlin’,” he went on, his Southern drawl morphing into a sly purr. “You’re safe … safe as a slumberin’ squirrel snug in a sugarpine. No need for thinkin’ now. Jus’ keep goin’ deeper. Give that big ol’ brain of yours a rest.”

Ford’s eyelids were beginning to sag, but his gaze remained stuck in place, lost in the mesmerizing electronic lights. His eyes were so heavy … so _sleepy_ … but he simply could not allow them to close or otherwise look away from the intoxicating visions before him.

At least, not until he was told.

“Good boy,” Fiddleford crooned with the beginnings of a smirk. “Sink deeper for me … That’s it … It’s okay to let go … Feels so _good_ to let go … Feels so good to sink … to sink inna my voice … and t’ sink … into … _pleasure_.”

He snapped his fingers for emphasis. Almost instantaneously, his opposite hand, still curled in Ford’s hair, felt a swift jerk as his body shook and convulsed underneath him.

“ _Thaaat’s_ right.” The engineer grinned, again rubbing soft circles into his subject’s scalp. “That’s what I like t’see.”

He allowed a few moments to pass, and then reiterated his suggestion:

“Pleasure.” _Snap._

“Pleasure.” _Snap._

“Pleasure.” _Snap._

Each repetition was a jolt of pure ecstasy. In this hypnotized state, with hardly anything else active in his consciousness, the mere _idea_ of pleasure overwhelmed all of Ford’s senses. His eyes rolled backward, his mouth gaping open with uncontrollable low moans. His every nerve was trembling with arousal, with sheer _pleasure — snap — pleasure — snap — pleasure —_

As this intensity approached its peak, Fiddleford paused, giving Ford a moment to catch his sharp, gasping breath. He didn’t want to burn him out just yet, after all. Oh, no, they were just getting started. This brief high was but a tantalizing taste of what was sure to come as the night went on.

Fiddleford let out a satisfied sigh. He kneeled down to the floor, ignoring the creak of his joints as he lowered himself to Ford’s eye level. He slid two fingers under his drooping chin, at last turning his stare away from the whorls and gyrations that had held his attention captive. Now those eyes were peering into his own, heavy and glazed yet brimming with adoration, trust, and yes — _pleasure_.

Once he was sure the focus of Ford’s trance had completely shifted away from the screen, Fiddleford reached to power down the computer. The display flickered and faded away, leaving the room in peaceful darkness. The droning from the headphone speakers diminished as well; those, too, were set aside. Stanford’s weighty head lolled further and further down, and soon he had fully collapsed into Fiddleford’s chest.

Fiddleford gently removed Ford’s spectacles and his own, resting them side-by-side on the desk — they wouldn’t be needing them any longer. Both of them curled on the old carpet now, he took his lover in both arms and resumed his rhythmic stroking motions, leaving goosebumps up and down his arms and neck. Ford replied with shivers of delight, feeling those electric touches and nothing else.

Maybe all that had transpired in years past was worth it, if only to now have the luxury of such unparalleled intimacy. It was perhaps a _strange_ intimacy at times, yes; but what were they, the founders of the Institute of Oddology, a pair of queer souls in more ways than one, if not _strange_? To experiment and discover and indulge alongside this brilliant mind and body was divine prosperity all its own, Fiddleford thought … and it was he and he alone who had the privilege to influence them so intensely.

He would take good care of them.

“Gettin’ a mite hot and bothered, are we?” he whispered teasingly, having felt Stanford’s sweat and fervent heartbeat. “Betcha you’d feel a li’l better if ya shed somma those layers … ”


End file.
